


Cube Escape: The Mill; Mr. Crow's Domestic- Well, Not Bliss, Exactly

by The_narwhals_awaken



Series: Rusty Lake: Perspective [6]
Category: Rusty Lake | Cube Escape (Video Games)
Genre: Game: Cube Escape: The Mill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:14:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26851267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_narwhals_awaken/pseuds/The_narwhals_awaken
Summary: Mr. Crow needed to prepare for two things that evening- wait, no, make that three.  The delivery of a package, an errand ferrying to run, and until then- the presence of Idra, his unfortunate host's wife.  He couldn't wait until all this was done and over with.
Series: Rusty Lake: Perspective [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946701
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	Cube Escape: The Mill; Mr. Crow's Domestic- Well, Not Bliss, Exactly

Cube Escape: The Mill

Mr. Crow stood in the bottom of the mill. Why he’d agreed to this, he wasn’t sure. Yes, he needed a host to deal with that last pesky bit of business from people trying to send pollutants into the Lake, but this was getting out of hand. At first, it had seemed a reasonable recompense, taking care of his host’s wife until Mr. Owl called for him again, and it wouldn’t be much longer, but this was still getting ridiculous! He could feel the strange tingling rush that meant that the Lake was waking up, and prepared for the string of odd tasks to ensure it would go well. The extractor, a green machine with controls for the chain dangling above, was in as good of condition as it could be. He turned. The door down to the wheel was locked, and the host hadn’t written down the code, but it would be fine. The Lake had ways of working around that. Carefully, Mr. Crow glanced at the double doors. His host’s wife was quiet for now, but something told him that she would be important in the Lake’s tasks. 

Turning again, Mr. Crow peeked out the window. The sun was setting. It wouldn’t be long. He picked up the pile of firewood and the box of matches from the table. Neither had been there before. The Lake provided well, and it was easy for It to manipulate probability and possibility to ensure its Chosen could problem-solve. The downside was that it needed energy and balance in order to affect the larger things, and it had worn itself out with poking at the Vanderbooms to bring them where they needed to be. It was only luck that the Tree was helping, as the Eilander mess had mostly worn off- and although it was somewhat helpful, most of that energy had gone into preparing the Hotel. Ah, the Hotel- such lovely days. But he digressed. 

Neatly, Mr. Crow lit the cobweb on the ceiling on fire. It burnt, revealing a key. He sighed. It would have to be  _ her _ , wouldn’t it. Using the key, he unlocked the doors, revealing his host’s wife. He wasn’t quite sure if she’d known, but he wasn’t speaking anyways- the thread through his lips, although part of the Host from before, was all that was keeping it on. The woman, Idra, seemed perpetually cranky and harsh in a way that fluffy white, curly hair or a light purple nightshirt couldn’t erase. She opened her mouth, not saying anything for once. Poking at her old, yellowed teeth in disgust, he managed to remove the golden tooth. Why she had one, he didn’t care to know. 

Turning back to the stove, he loaded the branches and lit them on fire, tossing the tooth almost as an afterthought. Mr. Crow stood there for a few minutes, checking his watch occasionally, then pulled the liquid gold out of the bottom drawer. As an afterthought, he pulled the boiling water with him. Taking the gold, he poured it into the mold on the table. A few minutes, and he had the key to the attic. He easily unlocked the door and stepped neatly out of the way as the ladder descended. 

Clouds were gathering, which would make his life much easier. Harvey, back in his smaller form after the incident which set them on this path, sat knowingly in the window. He squawked and left his droppings on the sill. Grudgingly, Mr. Crow scraped them into a vial. The Lake did not make mistakes. He turned to the spinning wheel, the flowerpot, and the oddly framed note. Hiding behind the pot was a pair of scissors. He put Harvey’s waste in the pot, avoiding the seedlings, then watered them well. Turning for a second, he glanced at the note, but did not read it yet. His attention returned to the pot, now full of grass. He took the scissors and trimmed it. Turning back to the ladder and the odd cow- certainly not there when he’d climbed up- and the two photos, odd in their contrast- symbols for a riddle and a picture of the host and his wife, Mr. Crow turned again. 

A familiar grandfather clock stood. The Lake did so love patterns, and this was one that was all too easy to repeat. Sitting beside it was an old telephone- one he would have used, had the potion worked as expected, and not too many years after- on a green cabinet, and an old television. In the cabinet were a set of knitting needles and a telescope. Having got all he could for now, he descended. 

Back below once more, Mr. Crow gave the needles to Idra, then cut her hair till all that remained was a close mop of curls. He returned to the attic, and spun the hair into thread. The familiar task grounded him, reassuring him that it would be over again soon. 

When he gave Idra the wool, she demanded warm milk before she’d make anything. While it was only proper, especially with her bloodline, it was rude to demand. Nevertheless, he climbed back up to the attic. Feeding and milking the cow was another familiar task, back before he and his brother had built the house. It called back to the simpler days, before all this had happened. Descending once more, he heated the milk on the stove and gave it to Idra. Idra took it and gave him an oven glove. Why, he didn’t know, but it would prove useful, no doubt. 

Up in the attic again, it was time. First, he turned on the television, revealing Laura Vanderboom, dead in her own home. That, beyond the Hotel Incident, was what set them on this path. Laura’s death, and her subsequent self-revival, locked in the power of her blood and soul to the destiny of the Lake. He looked away, for a second more Aldous than he’d let himself be while on a task in ages. Then he shook himself, Mr. Crow once more. Turning back to the television, he saw Dale Vandermeer, Mr. Owl’s prospect. He picked up the phone on his end, prompting Mr. Crow to do the same. After Dale gave the word, he finished the conversation, giving Dale the push he’d need. He didn’t have to worry for a while about that, though. Looking back at the screen, he saw that Dale had been replaced by Laura, rising out of view. 

The grandfather clock was shaking. Mr. Crow tried to open it, but was thwarted by the lock. He took the telescope and pointed it out the window Harvey was not occupying. Etched into the old church was the code for the wheel room door. Finally. He hurried down the ladder. Was it less than an hour ago he’d been standing, bored and waiting for things to start happening?

Quickly, he turned the dials, entering the code. The door opened, and he rushed down the stairs. His shoes, not his preferred dress shoes but practical rubber boots, splashed in the few inches of water as he turned. There! Above the grate that let him keep an eye on the Lake while inputting the cubes, was marked the time he’d need to unlock the clock. He hurried back up to the attic, not caring that the Lake pulled all its water back down so it could keep it. That was typical of the Lake. With shaking hands, he input the time, then stepped back and opened the clock. Red flashed around the corners of his vision as he saw Laura, curled up and bent to fit, surrounded by the odd fly-moth hybrids infesting her house. Her body fell to the floor ungracefully, then scooted across the floor to the ladder, falling down the hole. Mr. Crow followed, slower, to allow his hands to settle. Seeing William again, even like this, still gave him the shakes. 

When he’d composed himself and gotten down the ladder, Laura was already hooked up to the chains. How she’d gotten up there, what was up with her hands, and why her dress hadn’t fallen, were all problems the Lake had to deal with. Although he was grateful, Mr. Crow pushed all emotions aside- feelings or not, brother or not, he had a job to do. 

Carefully, he lowered Laura into the machine. As he was about to start, he paused, then climbed back into the attic. On the television screen stood Dale, ready to insert the cubes. He did so, and the world turned white for a second, even as the screen returned to its neutral green. Out the window, a beam of light arose from near the Chapel. He still had time, especially since it would be hours yet before Dale was prepared. Turning again, the note caught his eye. A reminder that the Lake needed memories, and a warning to be wary of corruption. He knew all this, and he noticed the hidden instruction. As he turned to climb down the ladder, the photo caught his eye. There was a curl at the edge, and he’d been around long enough to know the lake’s clues. Peeling it back, he found a second letter from Mr. Owl, reminding him of when the storm would come. That reminded him- the beam! Putting the telescope to an eye once more, he saw Dale, unconscious, with Mr. Owl standing over him. The beam of light was either shooting out of him or landing on him, but he didn't care either way. It started to rain as Mr. Owl raised his arms, Dale lifting as well. Once this task was done, he’d need to hurry down and get the boat ready- Dale wouldn’t wake until the storm was over, but the Lake was large, and the mill was far from the chapel. 

Mr. Crow descended down to the wheel, opening the grate and oddly grateful for the practical clothing he’d found so distasteful before- it kept the worst of the water out, and that was extremely helpful. The duck swam around, eating the odd weeds until it fattened so much it died. He took it, climbed the stairs, roasted it, used the oven glove- so that was what it was for!- and served it to Idra. She, in return, made him a net. The message was clear. Returning to the wheel room, he used the net to catch the odd fish. He ascended, cooked it, served it, and got rope. Using the rope, he hooked the machine up to the mill. 

The machine activated, scanning Laura’s brain and bringing out her happy memories. Glimpses of gems, of tapes, of a fun picture, of a shrimp, of a half-melted candle, appeared for a second. Tapping them quickly, they consolidated, producing a white cube. After feeding the cube to the Lake, lightning struck, searing numbers into his head. Shaking it slightly to remove the dazzle, he hesitated, before going back to the machine and doing his duty. 

Inputting the numbers brought out new memories. New glimpses of a corrupted soul, of a knife, an axe, of a severed hand, her own murder, and her antidepressant- they’d both hated being dependent on false treatments- merged to a black cube and were summarily ejected. The corruption ate Laura- or at least, this Laura- up, and as he moved to add the cube to the Lake, he mourned silently. The air outside went dark and deathly still. 

Returning upstairs, he saw Idra dead, blood dripping over the blanket wrapped around her. Climbing to the attic, he saw the cow had been decapitated, its head set below the window. He turned again and saw it. Standing where the flowerpot had been, holding a struggling Harvey in its hands. He addressed it in the tongue of the Lake, a tongue which needed no mouth- incidentally, the only tongue he could speak in until released from his host. “Please leave,” he stated, drawing himself up with all the manners his mother had raised him with and all the etiquette he’d learned. It shook its head, the air flashing red as it did so. “There will be blood,” he continued. Again the world flashed red around the edges, but it remained still. “Your memories belong to the Lake now”. It shook its head again, and reminded him so much of William. Always unready to accept another’s control of him- part of why he’d failed, really. “Leave them all behind”. It shook its head again, refusing to listen or denying his words. “All that you touch, you change”. Good words, and the motto of the Lake’s Chosen. It lifted its hands, releasing Harvey, and he flew away. The figure disappeared. Mr. Crow went back down the ladder and outside. The storm was clearing up, and the stars were out. It was time to get ready to ferry Dale, and hopefully, be released from this prison of pure physicality. 

**Author's Note:**

> You know the drill!
> 
> Next up is Rusty Lake: Hotel. This will take much longer to put together, and will be several chapters. Posting of each chapter will be on an as-finished basis. 
> 
> Leave a comment!


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